


Pirate

by seazu



Series: That's Life [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Pirate, M/M, Pirates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 09:21:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10659615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seazu/pseuds/seazu
Summary: Pirate AU -- Mickey is a Pirate Captain, known for his murderous nature. While raiding a passing cargo ship he decides to take one of the sailors back to his quarters to get... better acquainted.Part of the 'That's Life' series -- a handful of unrelated AUs based on the song by Frank Sinatra.(You don't have to have read any of the others to read this one)





	Pirate

**Author's Note:**

> Shout-out to my bae, my partner in crime, my editor, my RP partner, the almighty tolerater of my nonsense: OfficialStarsAndGutters. You probably already know her because she's a godly writer, and if you don't -- go look at all of her amazing stuff here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/officialstarsandgutters 
> 
> ANYWAY, this was another of our RPs and I leaned really heavily on the original chat for this one, so essentially all of the brilliant Ian stuff is hers. Naturally. She's fantastic, I love her. You should too. if you don't already. I'm so lucky. What a bae.
> 
> WHERE WAS I? Ah yes, this is part of an AU series based on the song That's Life by Frank Sinatra. The first three parts are also available to read and the last two are on the way, but there is no real connection, they're just random AUs. But if you like this one, I'd appreciate you checking out the others!

Mad Mick earned his name, just like he earned his ship and his Captaincy. You don’t lead a mutiny against your own father, overthrow him at the age of seventeen and not get some kind of reputation. His crew were just as ruthless as he seemed to be, bloodthirsty and vicious. They lost as many men in crew-fights as they did in raids. So it was impressive to see them bend to the whims to a boy, half the height of some of them. 

They saw what he did, though. Saw him capture men from other crews when they raided ships, hold them, torture them for information in his private quarters, and later they saw the bodies before they were tossed to sea. To the crew, he was deadly, but he couldn’t let them know what really happened between the prisoner’s capture and death. He’d get quite a different nickname in that case.

Their ship had an unrivaled reputation, just a glimpse of it on the horizon saw lesser ships throw up sails in an attempt to flee. Mickey walked the deck as the cannons exploded, grinning at the yells and screams of other men, listened to the  _ clink _ of hooks as they grappled the ship to theirs, and his crew swung across, bellowing their warcries, firing their pistols and waving their knives or swords. They cut them down easily, this was a transport crew, most weren’t trained to fight, only a few bothered to stand their ground. 

As usual, their captain was detained, someone useful to barter with ashore, and if not, could as easily be killed later. Mick took a rope to swing across when things were starting to calm down, his eyes were trained to one boy in particular. Couldn’t have been much younger than him, but certainly taller. A rush of red hair that looked like a fire against the blues of the sea and sky. He was fighting for his life, doing what he could to push back against Mickey’s crew, managing to take one of their pistols and backing away with it held up as they laughed and approached. 

He backed right into the barrel of Mickey’s gun and seemed to freeze, but Mick could tell he was calculating. To aid him in that, he leaned in and breathed, “whatever you be thinkin’, I wouldn’t.”

His voice was lower than he expected and it sent a shiver through him, “why not? You’ll kill me anyway.”

Mick eyed the pistol the boy was holding which he seemed to be preparing to shoot behind him with. “I could use a boy willin’ to die.”

All he got out was, “what for,” but the answer would have to wait, it was confirmation enough he may be pliable. And Mickey span his gun and brought it down hard against the back of his head. It was a cowardly move, to some, but he left himself open from behind. The boy crumpled to the floor like a sack of potatoes, and Mickey stood over him with a grin. He knew he had to take him back, but he also knew he wouldn’t go without a fight, so why not preserve his energy for later?

His last instructions echoed across the ship to be heard by all. Some directed to salvage weapons, others food and supplies, or to find whatever it was they were transporting. The remaining were to take the Captain and the boy back to his ship, keep whatever they wanted, and burn the rest. They were bloody and sated for now, and Mickey was eager for  _ his _ thirsts to be quenched. 

~

The noise of the crew above was almost deafening as they celebrated by getting horribly drunk and singing and fighting. He didn’t mind so much, it drowned out any noises from his cabin at least. No matter how hard they yelled or struggled, they wouldn’t be heard. The red-haired boy was tied to the chair opposite him, head lolling against his shoulder while Mickey waited for him to come around. In the meantime he busied himself by eating, taking slices of an apple that cut easily by his knife. 

He watched with curiosity as the boy started to stir, blinking slowly and gradually coming to, looking around him, wincing under the ache that must have been pulsing against his skull. And then his eyes landed on Mickey, and he frowned and started to strain against his binds.

He had a chance to look at him properly while he was unconscious, sun-burnt skin almost hidden behind the dark kiss of freckles, the most red hair he could ever remember seeing. A strong jaw that seemed to back up his stubbornness, lean and tall and muscles hidden away under clothes too baggy for him. He made Mick’s cock throb without even trying, but when he awoke and that fight filled his face with life, it was unbearable.

Mick sat in harsh contrast as he grinned, exposing yellowed teeth, chipped and even gold forced into a gap where a tooth should be. His blue eyes were lined with more stories than anyone his age should have, and the scar that split his face said even more. Scars littered his form, in fact, more exposed across his chest where his shirt sat open, also revealing weather-worn skin, glimpses of tattoos, and the gold chains adorning his neck. His hair sat in thick waves, framing his face with the help of a too-long beard that was split too, with war wounds. The heavy coat that he wore looked too big for him, like he had inherited or stolen it, and only served to make him look smaller. The same could probably be said for his hat, but that at least sat on the table between them for now. 

He leaned forward, grin in place as he rasped, “rise and shine.” He delighted in watching the near snarl on his face, “you ain’ afraid at all, are you?”

“What do you want?”

“Told you before, I need men who ain’t afraid to die.”

“Yeah, that was a more interesting offer before you knocked me out and tied me to a chair.”

“Precautions.”

“Because I’m so dangerous, unarmed, with a head-wound.”

“Fair enough… but I saw you on your ship, can’t be takin' any chances.”

“Can’t be much of a pirate if you don’t take chances.”

Mickey sat back and his grin widened to something shark-like. It had been a while since someone had challenged him like this. He didn’t see any point in beating around the bush, so to speak. The men who came in here (literally and figuratively), didn’t leave while they were still breathing. The door was locked and he was the only one armed, it had yet to go too far wrong for him. After what seemed like an adequately lengthy pause, he said, “I want to fuck you.”

He enjoyed the look that spread across his face. That he could shock him was a sort of victory. It took a while for a smirk to accompany the quirked brow, “ain’t the kind of booty Pirate’s normally want.”

“Don’t meet a pirate like me every day.”

“I don’t bottom.”

“I don’t top.”

“And I’m not into bondage,” he looked down at the ropes securing him to the chair before staring pointedly at Mickey.

Mickey wet his lips before setting the apple he was slicing from aside and stood, making his way to the other chair to cut him loose from the ropes. “You got a name?”

“I’ll trade you.”

“Mick.”

“Ian.”

Ian rolled his neck as he rubbed at his wrists to relieve the ache from them. Mickey meanwhile circled around him, keeping a hold of the knife until he was sure that Ian wouldn’t just lunge at him, at which point he stabbed it into the table, deep enough that it would take a good amount of effort to remove it. After that he wasted no time in shrugging off his coat and letting it fall to the ground, closely followed by his shirt. His tattoos spanned across most of his arms and back, a tapestry of sea creatures most considered myth but many he claimed to have seen face-to-face. He could feel Ian’s eyes scanning them, looking at where they were split by scars, or pirate brands from when he had been arrested, bullet wounds that sat as pink mounds, various other indistinguishable marks. Each one a story, a point of pride almost. 

As he started to kick off his boots and remove his pants, Ian finally kicked into gear and started taking off his own clothes, hanging them over the back of his chair. He was more toned than you’d think from just looking at him, tightly packed muscles forming his lean frame and he looked at Mickey expectantly after that.

It didn’t take more than that for Mickey to move forward, pushing Ian against the table with a firm grip at his hips. His mouth dared to lick and bite at his neck, and he could almost taste the ocean off his skin. Ian seemed a little surprised that he didn’t just just get right into it, but Mickey was an Island. When something washed up on shore, it wasn’t often and he intended to make the most of it while he could. Savor every taste and smell, every bite. His hand cupped Ian’s crotch, underwear doing a good job of hiding what he had down there. But his eyebrow quirked when he felt the size of it. Stepping back and stripping his underwear off to let his cock bob free. Apparently he hadn’t seen  _ every _ sea monster yet. Suddenly he felt very wise in his decision to take Ian aboard. He wet his lips before he dropped to his knees. It wasn’t often he sucked cock, but he thought briefly if he took the time to make sure Ian was good and hard, maybe he wouldn’t go lightly on the prep. He sucked him off to a symphony of filthy noises, leaking from Ian’s mouth like the pre-cum from his cock, and once he was satisfied he pulled away with a little  _ pop _ noise. 

He was prepared, of course. He definitely considered a bottle of carrageenan prepared, and he was glad for it in the face of Ian’s length. He moved away from him to retrieve it. 

“How do you want to do this?”

“I was hopin' you’d fuck me across the table,” Mickey said without hesitation. Hard to be nervous in front of someone you know will be another bloodstain in the wood soon enough. 

He passed the bottle to Ian who looked back at him with some confusion. “What do I do with this?”

Mickey pulled a face as he removed his underthings, and then took it back, grabbing Ian’s hand and pouring a little of the thick liquid over his outstretched fingers. Ian looked revolted as he rubbed it around. “Figure it out.”

Apparently, Ian was a fast learner. His hand pressed flat against Mickey’s lower back, who was bracing himself against the table as he put the lubed fingers of his other hand to good use. Fingering him and spreading him open a little roughly, but in a very welcome way. Mickey grunted against the hard thrusts as Ian rapidly built up the amount of fingers he was pushing into him. He’d take any prep he was given though, it was a good change from the weedy sailors who just acted in fear or discomfort. Not that he ever forced anyone into this. Not completely. They had a choice. They just didn’t know that the other option was death until they were spitting blood. 

He’d lost count of how many fingers were stretching him, but just when the sting was starting to subside, he was empty, and Ian was fiddling with the bottle again. He looked behind him, watching Ian slick up his cock with hooded eyes. It had been a while since he’d been with someone he actually found hot. Undeniably hot. And the way Ian made eye-contact with him then made his stomach squirm. His tongue dragged against his bottom lip, dry from his panting and grunting, and then Ian was lining up against him and he had to swallow and brace himself against the table again, trying not to tense against the slow push of Ian’s cock filling him up. It just seemed to keep going. Never-ending. It felt like it was against his stomach before Ian was flush. He let out a shuddering sigh and Ian panted audibly. 

Before he even had a chance to fully adjust to it, Ian was moving again. Before he could breathe properly, Ian was picking up speed. Like a punishment. Some kind of revenge, maybe. Regaining control after being taken and tied up. Not that Mickey cared. This was exactly what he needed. He needed control to be removed completely; after spending all day every day being in charge. Always having to call shots and carry the burden of leadership with him. But now, it was out of his hands. Fuck, even if Ian decided to take that knife and slit his throat, there was little he could do from this position. He kept glancing at it, until pleasure started to build and he couldn’t look at anything at all. Eyes glued shut as his grunts and moans came a little louder. Ian didn’t do much to keep quiet either, as he fucked him more and more aggressively into the table, the whole thing felt like it might buckle if it wasn’t nailed into the ground, and even then it was making noises of its own. 

The clap of Ian’s hips against Mickey’s ass echoed against the wooden walls, but started to jerk out of rhythm the closer he got. Ian came first and Mickey could feel the wet heat filling him up. He wasn’t expecting the hand reaching around to jerk him off through the last thrusts, and it surprised a moan out of him when he did finally cum. He lay panting and spent in his own seed, against the table. Ian’s sweaty form across him until he had enough strength to pull out. Mickey gritted his teeth against the sensation, but then he could breathe again. He was about to turn when he saw Ian’s hand drag the knife out of the wood and bring it to his throat. 

“Think I didn’t see you staring at this?”

Mickey quirked an eyebrow, a little rush from the feel of the blade digging a line into the soft flesh of his throat. This was new. “What d’you want?”

“I wanna get off at the next port in one piece.”

“That may be a while.”

“Then I’ll work until we get there. I ain’t gonna die on this ship though.” 

Mickey was quiet while he thought, then put an arm against Ian’s, pushing the knife away as he stood. Ian allowed it, but sprung back once they were both standing straight so that Mickey couldn’t try and wrestle the knife away. It was a little less threatening with his dick out, actually made Mickey smirk a little. “Alright. You have to give me something, though. Your captain, what do you know about him.”

“I ain’t givin’ you shit.”

“People don’t leave this room alive, if you’re the exception there has to be cause.”

“Sounds like your problem, not mine.”

“Is he valuable?”

“Fuck you. I’m not partaking in someone’s death.”

“So, no.”

Ian glared at Mickey until he rolled his eyes, “tell me where you port, then. You were a cargo transport vessel, yes? There’s money somewhere, must be someone who would pay for his return.”

He sighed after a moment of staring and said, “I’ll mark it on your map.”

“Good. One more thing.”

“What?”

“You can’t leave here looking pretty.”

“You hit me, I’ll hit you back.”

“You were supposed to be tied to a chair.”

“You hit me. I’ll hit you back.” Something about the firmness in his tone made Mickey’s smirk grow. 

“Alright, fine. But put the knife away, let’s keep this fair.”

"A pirate that fight's fair, not likely."

"Let's fight like men, then."

Ian looked him over before dropping his stance and stretching up to lodge the knife into the wood by the door, well out of Mickey’s reach, which only made him raise his eyebrows. _Seriously?_  But then he started rolling his neck and bouncing on his toes a few times to prepare himself. Changing his mind and turning to redress, at least partially. Something about fighting with his cock out just wasn’t sitting well with him. He threw Ian over his pants and underwear and redressed himself to the same degree.

He squared up against him again once they were both looking a little more presentable, bouncing forward and throwing his weight into the first punch. Ian seemed to just take it, Mickey was pretty certain he’d have been nimble enough to dodge it otherwise. His rebuttal came swiftly afterwards, boney fist slamming against his cheek and crushing the flesh there. He didn’t let the pain settle long enough to distract him, just swung for Ian’s kidney to shock him and then sent his other fist to strike his nose. Looking for more obvious facial damage than anything else. Knew the earlier head injury would only work to his advantage in dizzying him.

That didn’t distract Ian for long because after he stumbled back, he came for Mickey full force, charging at him until he was pinned against the table again. An elbow connected with his stomach and then Ian’s forehead came down against his. He felt the pain shock through him until the back of his head collided with the hard wood of the table. And it took him a moment before he could jab at Ian’s nose. An explosion of blood rained down on him and allowed Ian to pin his wrists to the table, gravity on his side. Then there was the bone-tingling pain of Ian’s knee connecting with his groin. In the shock of it he was afforded a surge of strength and was able to shove Ian back, who just stumbled and the rock of a wave had him against the wall, while Mickey just slid to the ground grasping at his aching balls. 

“The  _ fuck _ ,” he spat blood at the floor and basically shivered against the sensation, eyes watering. "And you were worried about  _me_ not fighting fair?!"

“I was aiming for your stomach.”

“You missed.”

“I know.”

Mickey tried to breathe through it and for a while, that and the celebrations above were all that could be heard. He broke the silence after a long while, “you got a good arm.”

“Yeah.”

Mickey nodded then, shakily coming to his feet, taking his jacket and shirt with him while leaning against the table for support. He pressed the crumpled shirt to his face to wipe away blood and then just held it by his nose for a while to mop up the last of it. “You’ll fit in well here.”

“I can fit in anywhere.” 

“I saw that.” He smirked, and then corrected himself, “felt that.”

Ian snorted, and then just started to laugh. It was infectious. He could agree it was a pretty fucking weird situation to find yourself in. Fighting some closeted pirate captain you’d just banged, so the rest of the crew wouldn’t find out. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d just laughed like that.

“Long as you’re sticking with us for a while…”

“You wanna do that again?”

“Could.”

“Sure.”

Mickey wet his lips, taking the shirt away to clean his spunk and some of the blood away, shrugging on his jacket, and putting his hat on again. “Report to Jamie, he’ll tell you what needs doing. Tell him to find you a bed, and show you the kitchen so you can eat somethin'.”

He found the key to the door and unlocked it, then looked purposefully at his knife until Ian obliged in pulling it out and handing it down. Making a show of his superior height, the advantage it gave him over Mickey. 

He only rolled his eyes at the display and waited for Ian to place the knife in his hand. Plenty of men in his crew taller than him, this was nothing new. “Can’t guarantee someone with a mouth like yours'll survive the journey to the next port.”

“I can handle myself.”

Mickey could almost believe that, after everything, but as he jerked the door open and they were met with the noise of the men brawling and arguing above, he wasn’t entirely convinced. “Good luck with that.”

As he watched him walk away, Mickey felt the uncomfortable slide of Ian's spunk running out of his ass and down his leg. 


End file.
